Anita Blake rescued
by LA Turner
Summary: This is for anyone who, like me, was so disappointed that the Anita Blake series turned a kickass heroine into a soft porn succubus.


The old woman took one careful step after another over the bodies of the werewolves and the vampires on the cold marble floor. She could see that most of them were sleeping, perhaps dreaming, faint smiles of pleasure still on their lips. Some had their clothes ripped completely off or were covered in liquids that the woman couldn't (or wouldn't) identify.

A few were still able to walk, or stagger. As they passed, most didn't even notice the old woman or the bag she carried. If they did notice, their eyes drifted on without comment, the smiles on their faces didn't waver. They were sensible enough to move to avoid her though, for which she was grateful. It was sometimes difficult to balance the spell so that she would blend in, be unnoticed, yet not be walked into or trod upon.

She stopped at the bottom of the staircase and sighed. She glanced around but could not see an easier way. With a grunt, she lifted her left foot up onto the first step. Then the right. Her back ached and crackled, her knees wobbled, but she had the ancient oak railing to hang onto and her determination to drive her, and that was enough.

Luckily there was a chair at the top of the stairs where she could rest, but not for long, not until her bones froze up and she could not complete her task. She used the time to watch the doors and find which one the creatures were coming from. More fantastic beings leapt up the stairs and ran past her toward the room as well, eager to enter and have their turn. She grinned a little as a particularly handsome werejaguar tripped on the top step and recovered without taking his eyes off the door to the room. She understood his compulsion, and hoped he would find a comfortable spot to doze after he was done.

The line to get through the enormous double wooden doors stretched down the hallway. The old woman let herself be seen enough so that when she got into line, one of the gentlebeings might think to offer to move her chair down the line with her. It didn't take long, and soon she was sitting as comfortably as she could be as she moved toward the door.

As the doors swung open and closed every fifteen minutes or so, sometimes more often, sometimes less, the cloying scent of floral incense wafted into the hall. The old woman sneezed and wondered if it would seem so strong afterward. If so, she would command it be removed and that instead, the room be filled with fresh flowers. That much she could change.

If any of the young, strong, beautiful beings in the line thought it was odd to see a rather plain-looking crone beside them, they didn't say anything. The old woman would just smile and they would realize at second glance that she was younger than they thought, and they would go back to admiring the original oil paintings in the hallway, or go back to subtly touching themselves. Every once in a while a vamp or were closest to the door might share a glance and embrace each other, kissing and stroking with wild abandon, but unwilling to go further and lose their place in line. The old woman herself could feel heat where none had been for years, and she knew she had made the right decision.

Finally it was her turn. She regretted leaving her staff with her daughter, but it was, after all, her daughter's birthright to have it, and the old woman would soon no longer require it. The old woman leaned to the left to balance the bag dangling from her right shoulder as she shuffled through the doors and toward the bed.

The bed was the focus of the room, a massive four poster with an elaborate carved headboard and footboard. In the middle of the rumpled satin sheets was a strikingly beautiful woman. Her skin was so pale it nearly glowed, and her black hair cascaded over her full breasts. She was a succubus, even if she would not admit it to herself. Her latest suitor, a tall blonde woman, was grinning and groggily searching for her pants.

With another sigh of relief, the old woman reached the edge of the bed and sat. The satin was of the finest quality, smooth under her cracked and dry hands. She smiled at the succubus and dropped her bag on the floor beside the bed, spilling its contents.

The succubus raised an eyebrow, for the old woman had now dismissed all her spells and appeared as her true self. They appraised each other for a few moments. Finally the succubus said with a smile,"I didn't think there was anything left that could surprise me."

"I am full of surprises, my child," replied the old woman as her wrinkled face cracked into a grin.

"I would bet. So how do you want to start?" The succubus spread her legs suggestively.

"Don't you ever get tired of this? Bored?"

The old woman's question seemed to puzzle the succubus. "I never thought about it that much. It seems as though this is all I've ever done, and it is what I will always do. No matter how many people pass through that door, I welcome and enjoy them all." She paused, deep in thought. "I sometimes remember doing something else, or that there is something I've forgotten, but it doesn't bother me anymore."

"You are indeed unique, but not in the way you think. You have a purpose, but this is not it. A long time ago, you were destined to save this city, perhaps even this world."

The succubus raised both eyebrows at that. "By screwing every supernatural being, one by one? Or sometimes two or three, my personal record is--"

"No," the crone barked. "That's my point. Sometime soon after you took the first mark from Jean Claude, your destiny became twisted. I don't know if it was his intent, but I am here to give you the ability to find that out for yourself."

"Jean Claude?" The succubus looked down at the stained and sweaty sheets. "What do you mean?"

"'I kill vampires, I don't date them.' Do you remember that?"

A faint gleam surfaced in the eyes of the succubus. "I... I don't know." A tear trickled down her cheek. "Sometimes I dream and someone says that to me... but I don't understand." She looked at her hands, her eyes shaded, lost in thought.

"You will," whispered the old woman. She quickly lifted the plain, round, wooden amulet from around her neck and kissed it, then with the last bit of her ancient body's strength, lunged and dropped it over the head of the succubus. When the amulet hit her breast, a curl of smoke rose from its surface. The succubus fell back onto her soft pillows.

Before the vampires guarding the edge of the room could get to them, the old woman snatched the amulet back, ripped it from its chain, and put it in her mouth. The wood and the ancient symbol now on its surface were both dissolved within a second. The old woman felt the power coursing through her body, a different power than she had claimed all her life. She gasped as her veins began to flow with fresh blood, her withered muscles grew and flexed, and her breasts lifted and expanded. Finally she had to remove her cloak before she became trapped.

By this time the guards had reached the bed, but only stood there in amazement. "Anita, are you... ok?" One of them asked, unsure of what to do.

"I'm more than OK. Don't worry, I think I just discovered a new power." The old woman looked up at the guards with the eyes of the succubus, and they nodded and returned to their posts. Then she spoke to the young woman with her on the bed, a woman who was still beautiful, but no longer quite so supernaturally gorgeous or endowed. The woman was shaking her head as though awakening from a long dream.

"You are needed in this city, Anita. You were turned into a succubus by some dark force, whether it was Jean Claude or something using him. I have had a long life, but I never made a difference. This is my gift to you and to this world. I will take your place here, and you will take this city back from the evil."

Anita Blake stood up and stretched. Now the tears were running freely down her face. She wiped them with the T-shirt she found on the floor, then slowly put on the undergarments, jeans, black runners, and the shirt itself. In the bag she found a Browning, holster, and silver ammo, along with a belt holding several silver knives and wooden stakes.

Anita growled as she snugged the weapons into place. "I kill vampires, I don't date them. I _kill_ vampires, I don't _date_ them. _I kill them_!" She whispered this last with resolve. Then she turned to the woman who had taken her place.

"How can I ever repay you?"

"Be who you were meant to be."

The old succubus glanced down at her supple new body and grinned. Anita Blake returned the grin as she loaded her Browning and strode confidently out of the room, on her way to kick some vampire ass.


End file.
